Blueberry Crepes
by Daring Dear
Summary: France spends the morning with his young adopted son, Canada. - Cuteness and chibi!Canada. Fail title is fail. -


France sighed as he slowly walked to his door. He was tired and sore from battling his enemy, and he couldn't even remember why they were at war anymore. He set his chipped sword by the door. He wouldn't bring it in the house, because it could scare Canada. He wouldn't do that to his little Mathieu. He reached for the door, and opened it quietly, seeing as it was early in the morning and he assumed his little angel would be sleeping.

"Papa!"

France was proven wrong when a small flash of golden blonde slammed into his stomach, and two surprisingly strong petite arms wrapped around him.

"Papa! Can I have a blueberry crepe? With maple syrup?"

Despite his fatigue, a smile spread across France's face. His little Mathieu could always do that to him. How could he turn down such a sweet face?

"Of course you can, my little Mathieu. Do you want to help me make it?" Francis smiled kindly down at the tiny little nation, delighting in the way his lavender eyes lit up with excitement.

"Yes, Papa!" Mathew squealed as he spun around and ran for the kitchen.

France chuckled and followed his excited adopted son. He was so adorable, and he never regretted for an instant he had gotten Mathew while England had taken the louder Alfred. He adored his little Canada, just as he knew England adored his America.

"What do we do first, Papa?" Mathew asked excitedly the second France reached the kitchen.

"Ingredients, first Mathieu." France said, chuckling lightly as he gathered what they would need. One cup of all-purpose flour, two eggs, half a cup of low-fat milk, half a cup of water, a fourth teaspoon of salt, fresh blueberries, and two tablespoons of melted butter. Of course, every ingredient was premium French products.

"And then we mix it all together." He said, setting a small bowl and all the ingredients on the counter, smiling as Mathew pushed his step-stool up all by himself.

"Can I crack an egg?" Mathew asked, bouncing up and down in excitement on his little stool, golden blonde curls matching his movements.

"Of course you can." France said, smiling warmly as he handed him the eggs and offered a warning, "Just don't get any eggshells in it."

"M'kay, Papa!" Mathew said, clumsily cracking the eggs into the bowl. His movements were clumsy from youth, but he didn't let a single piece of shell fall into the bowl, "Like that?"

"Oui! Good job, Matthieu!" France praised as he took the egg shell's from the tiny hands and placed them in the trash.

He playfully mussed Mathew's hair as he returned, his fatigue forgotten as a beautiful giggle reached his ear. He quickly added the milk, water, salt, and butter to the bowl with practiced skill, a smile gracing his lips as he was reminded again how much he loved cooking.

"Yay!" Mathew giggled as he reached for the cup of flour, "Flour now, right Papa?"

"Yes, Mathieu~! You are so very good at this." France chuckled, praising him again as he allowed Mathew to grab the flour.

"Merci!" Mathew giggled in French as he clumsily lifted the cup of flour up and dumped it, a cloud of white powder filling the air and clinging to their faces.

"Oopsie!" he said, dropping the cup to the counter and sneezing.

"Oh no!" France said, smiling as he grabbed a wet towel and bent down in front of Mathew.

"You are _so _cute!" he said as he wiped at Mathew's face, earning another childish giggle as he did so, "So adorable and innocent!"

"You have some on you too, Papa!" Mathew said, lifting a tiny hand to wipe away the white powder on France's cheek.

France felt a warm rush of love for his petit mignon. He adored his little son, so sweet and kind and innocent. Here was a child untouched by war and hatred, blind to the cruelties of this world. He was pure, and he loved his papa no matter how many mistakes he made. France had never imagined he would ever be loved unconditionally by anyone, but so long as he was, he could stand tall against any attack anyone else threw his way.

"It's a good thing I have you to wipe it off, isn't it?" France said, ruffling his hair fondly.

"Right! Je t'aime!" Mathew declared, leaping forward to wrap his arms tightly around his Papa's neck. He hugged him tightly before pulling back, excitement glittering in his eyes once again, "Can I stir it? Can I, Papa?"

"Je t'aime aussi." France said, unable to stop smiling at the adorableness of his little angel as he stood up and watched him scramble back onto his stool, "Of course you can! Just don't spill it."

"M'kay Papa!" Mathew chimed as he grabbed for the wooden spoon and stuck it into the bowl. He was a bit too excited, and stirred rapidly, splashing some of the mixture onto his hands.

"You should stir a bit slower, Matthieu. You don't want to make a mess, do you?" France warned gently, glancing at the batter spilled on his marble counter.

"Oh…ok!" Mathew said, slowing his stirring and turning to look at France, "Like this Papa?"

"Oui! Much better." France found himself chuckling yet again as he grabbed another wet towel and wiped the counter, watching Mathew as he stirred carefully.

"There!" Mathew said triumphantly, dropping the spoon and splattering batter on the recently cleaned counter, "Um…but you should pour it, Papa…I might spill it…"

"Wouldn't want that." France chuckled, picking up the bowl and pouring the perfect amount of mixture into a preheated pan.

"It's gonna be so yummy~!" Canada squealed, stumbling off the stool and running for the fridge. He ran to the fridge and yanked it open, fumbling for the maple syrup he loved so much.

"Of course it is, _you _helped me make it." France said, smiling kindly as he shut the fridge door Mathew had left hanging open.

"Just because I helped?" Mathew giggled, as if he found the idea hard to believe.

"Oui! If you didn't help me, it wouldn't be nearly as good." France insisted, pouring the blueberries onto the crepe and folding it over carefully.

"But you showed me how to do it…" Mathew said doubtfully.

"But without your culinary _expertise, _they wouldn't be as delicious as they will be now." France countered, smiling. He was adorable, but he really needed a higher self-esteem.

"But I get my ex-ex-pertiss-"Mathew stumbled over the word and France had to hold in his laughter, "From you."

Was it possible to die of cuteness? France was sure that adorable mispronunciation nearly did him in.

"You are going to be much better at me at cooking when you're older, I can tell." France cooed, his warm smile reaching his eyes and making them shimmer with pure love, a look few had been able witness.

"Me? Better than you?"

The look of pure awe and joy in that child's face was probably the most beautiful thing he'd ever see. France had seen the wonders of the world, lived the life of luxury, he'd done and seen it all, but nothing could compare to the miracle of seeing a child, no, his child shining with unmarred innocence was truly a blessing to behold. Nothing but Mathew was truly innocent in his world anymore. But he was becoming lost in his thoughts, and his little Mathieu was waiting for an answer.

"Oui, you could be a professional chef."

"Me? P-professinil?" he asked, his eyes wide as he struggled with another word.

"Oui!" France chuckled, shifting the crepe so it was in the exact center of the pan.

Yes, he was a bit of a perfectionist, but it was actually one of his more endearing qualities. Or, Mathew thought so at least. He thought his papa perfect, so it only made sense he'd want everything he did to be perfect too.

"And then I can make yummy food for you in a big, pretty restraint?" Mathew asked, gripping the edge of the counter with his tiny fingers and standing up on his tippy-toes, a long blonde curl and two big, purple eyes peaking over the edge.

"Oh yes! I would like that very much." France encouraged, being sure to show plenty of excitement on his face.

"Ooh, I would get to wear one of those black and white outfits and give you wine, like when you took me to that place for my birthday! And you'd be happy!" Mathew said, over-excited in that incredibly adorable little kids fashion that can cheer you up no matter how your day was going before. Mathew was always happiest when he could make his papa happy.

France chuckled again, he couldn't help it, he was just too adorable.

"That would be _wonderful _mon cher." He cooed as he leaned down and hugged him gently.

Mathew let out an adorable squeal of delight as he wrapped his arms around his papa and hugged back, careful not to use all of his strength, because he would never want to hurt him.

"Ah, I think the crepe is done." France said, gently unwrapping Mathew's hands from around his neck and quickly shutting the stove off before his food could burn.

He picked the pan up and carefully tilted it, letting the crepe slide onto the plate. Mathew squealed in delight again as he ran to the table and scrambled onto his chair, his beloved bottled of maple syrup clutched in his hand. France smiled as he added the finishing touches to his little master piece. A perfectly aimed flick of powdered sugar, a ziz-zag drizzle of blueberry juice, and a dollop of whipped cream.

"There!" France said proudly, placing his perfect crepe on the table in front of the beaming Mathew.

"It smells so délicieux." Mathew said, popping the top of his maple syrup and holding it over his plate. He didn't drown it in syrup though, Papa had told him not to, because he should taste the food as well as his syrup. He supposed it did make sense, even if he did love maple syrup.

"It'll taste even better." France chuckled, noting happily that his crepe was not drowned in the sticky substance.

Mathew grabbed his fork and jabbed it into the crepe, lifting a large piece of light, warm crepe dripping slightly with maple.

He held it out, looking up at France with bright eyes, "Bite?"

"I'd love one." He said, smiling as he accepted the bite and immediately praised it, "Mm, délicieux."

Mathew giggled happily and took a bite for himself, dripping syrup down his chin in the process.

"...it is yummy! You're the best, Papa."

" No, no, no, _you're_ the best." France corrected, leaning down next to Mathew's chair to place a kiss on the top of his head.

"But you're the best!" Mathew protested, stretching up to place a slightly sticky kiss on his papa's cheek, unable to reach the top of the far taller man's head.

"Non, you're obviously mistaken. _You're _the bestest." France countered, cooing in a slightly child-like tone other nations would likely mock him endlessly for.

"Well, you're the best of the bestest!" Mathew insisted, determined to win this disagreement.

"Then you're better than the best of the bestest. You're _perfect_."

"Well you're...you're the most perfect person ever and I love you, so ha!" Mathew said, leaping forward to hug France tightly, convinced he'd won.

"I love you more." France said, hugging Mathew back and smiling, but it was tinged with sadness. Perfect…France was no fool, and he knew was very far from perfect. He wasn't even close. But, he supposed he must have done something right, because he had been trusted and blessed enough to watch over an angel.

"I love you mostest!" Mathew said, pouting stubbornly as he hugged him even tighter.

"I guess you win, then." France laughed, giving in to avoid being accidently crushed by the incredible strength of his little adopted son. He remembered once when Mathew had been scared by Spain lurking about outside his house, and had thrown a bookcase through a window in his fear. Good times…

"Yay! What do I win, France?" Mathew asked, giggling as he released France and stared up at him with wide, glittering eyes.

Ah, he wants a prize. He hadn't thought of that, but he would give his Mathieu anything he asked for.

"You win...um…whatever you want for the rest of today."

"I want you to stay with me all day!" Mathew declared, not even a second needed to consider it.

France was stunned silent. He could have anything he wanted, and all he asked for was him? Had his little Mathieu really missed him that much? Ah, but of course he did! He had been going off every day to fight in some terrible war Mathew didn't understand, sometimes he'd be gone all night and wouldn't stumble home, exhausted and sore, until early the next morning. Like he'd done tonight…he had to blink back ashamed tears as he pulled Mathew into another hug.

"I can most definitely do that." He said, hugging Mathew tightly to him so he couldn't see the unshed tears in his eyes.

"Good! 'Cause I love you and you're my favorite person ever!" Mathew said, hugging his papa back before he pulled away and smiled.

Now wasn't that enough to melt any adult's heart? It was certainly enough to halt France's tears.

"Really? Your favorite?" he asked, ruffling Mathew's hair playfully as he stood up to take the forgotten half-eaten crepe off the table and toss it in the trash.

"Yes! My favorite! Only don't tell big brothers Arthur or Alfred 'cause they might not like it..." Mathew said, slightly guiltily, as he lifted one finger and pressed it to his lips in a shh-ing fashion.

France chuckled again as he lifted a finger and mimicked Mathew's gesture, "Okay, it can be our little secret."

"Good! Whatcha wanna do now, Papa?" Mathew questioned, not caring what or where as long as he got to be with his Papa all day, just like before with war that he'd been told about.

"Whatever you want to do."

"Mm...I'm sleepy..." Mathew said, muffling a yawn with his hand before stretching his arms out towards his papa and staring up at him with tired eyes, "Up?"

"Okay." France said, smiling as he gently scooped Mathew into his arms.

"You're so comfy, Papa…" Mathew said, cuddling up against his chest, and began humming a familiar tune.

France smiled and began singing softly as he walked to the living room and sat in his favorite chair.

"Baby mine, don't you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine. Little one, when you play, don't you mind what they say. Let those eyes sparkle and shine, never a tear, baby of mine. If they knew sweet little you, they'd end up loving you too. All those same people who scold you, what they'd give just for the right to hold you."

"Papa?" Mathew said quietly when France paused in his song, and looked up at him with tired eyes, "...did you mean it when you said you loved me most?"

"Of course I did. I would never lie to you, Mathieu." France assured him.

"Then...you'll love me even when I'm big and not so...cute anymore?" Mathew asked timidly, as if he feared the answer.

"You'll always be cute, and I'll always love you." France said firmly, wanting Mathew to know it was true.

"Promise? You'll be my bestest friend forever and ever?"

"Of course. I'll even _pinky _promise." He said, lifting his hand and holding out his pinky.

"M'kay!" Mathew said excitedly, wrapping his own little pinky around his papa's, noticing how big the size difference was, "Pinky promise!"

France smiled at the adorable childishness of the act, and marveled at the idea that the simple gesture was an unbreakable vow for children. Things were so much simpler for them…

"There! Now you can be sure I'll love you forever and ever." He said, patting Mathew's soft hair gently.

Mathew smiled as he leaned into France and closed his eyes, seeming to fall asleep.

France smiled, hugging the sleeping child gently as he whispered, "Je t'aime…"

"Love you more…" Mathew muttered.

Ah, so he hadn't been sleep after all. France smiled, unable to see how that could possibly be true, "In your dreams... I love you with all my heart, little Mathieu."

"But I love _you_ with all my heart...so I guess we're even, huh?" Mathew said, his exhaustion clear in his voice.

France chuckled quietly, "I guess we are...You should sleep now, Mathieu."

"M'kay, Papa…" Mathew muttered as he curled up comfortably and fell asleep.

France smiled, and soon he too gave in to exhaustion and joined his son in dreamland.

* * *

I WROTE THIS FOREVER AGO. AND FORGOT ABOUT IT. FRANCE. DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN WE RPED THIS? LITTLE CANADA IS SO CUTE. 8D


End file.
